Frank Bannister: Psychic Investigator
by GhostFlustered
Summary: Frank Bannister enters a new line of work: paranormal conning. This is a prequel story to the 1996 movie, The Frighteners. It is rated teen for language and gratuitous ghostly hijinks!
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

 **06/11/17**

Hi there! Thank you for expressing interest in my silly fan fiction! Reading this author's note is by no means a requirement, but if you're interested in my thoughts/process/updates you may want to give it a quick scan. I think I should start off by saying that this is my first ever fan fiction. You have been warned! I'm still not sure what possessed (no pun intended) me to write this. While I've always respected fan fiction, I've never had a particularly strong interest in it. I guess The Frighteners is just such a gonzo movie with so many ideas that it sparked my creativity!

If you've read some of the reviews for the movie, many critics commented on how it could have been three different films. It's hard to argue with that. The flick is ambitious to a fault, but I think that's a lot of its appeal. The story takes on so much even with its two hour time frame. I personally love the paranormal conman aspect of it. That's such a fun idea, and it became the focus of my fan fiction. This story is supposed to be prequel. It opens up about a year or so after the death of Frank's wife. It's pretty much the beginnings of Frank's ghost conning business. The story is going to feature a lot of ghost antics, lol.

So far I've found writing for Stuart and Cyrus surprisingly easy. I've really enjoyed explaining their mishaps, and I think it shows in my work. I've had a hell of a time writing for Frank though! You can't crack one liners with him. He is supposed to be vulnerable and conflicted, but I didn't want him to be mopey or humorless. He is also the heart of the story, so the readers need to root for him. I wanted to show Frank working through some stuff, while still remaining likable. A rarely mentioned theme from the movie is selflessness. While neither would admit it, I feel both Frank and Ray (Lucy's husband) share one major similarity; they both have a selfish streak. Ray blows a bunch of money on a bad investment without consulting Lucy, while Frank builds a basketball court where his wife wanted a flower garden.

I wanted to use this shortcoming for Frank. He is more self-centered here. It is also heavily implied in the film and confirmed in the novelization that Frank had a drinking problem. I have included this in my story. This is something I struggled with. I didn't want this to get too serious, but at the same time I certainly didn't want to depict drinking as some sort of joke. I decided to keep the drinking references to a minimum. Deep down, I think The Frighteners is an immensely silly movie, so I kept a light tone. BTW, the novelization is well worth a read, and I incorporated some of its ideas into my story. I also tried to work in some of the ideas from the wonderful (Albeit long! Like, four hours long!) "Making of The Frighteners" documentary.

I will continue to update this page as I get further in my story. Right now only the first chapter is complete, but I'm wrapping up the second and third chapters! I welcome all comments, but constructive criticism is my favorite! I personally think I need to work on my present and past tense usage. Well anyway, thanks for reading my overly wordy author's note! On to the story!

 **Author's Note #2**

 **10/10/17**

Hello again everyone! It's been a while! I'm still regularly thinking about this fan fiction, but work and college are pretty big time commitments. Chapter two is well on its way, and I'm hoping to finish it in the next week or so. After all, October is the perfect month for a story like this! Extremely minor update, I cleaned up the front page summary. The first one wasn't terrible, but it was a little on the lazy side. The newest one is still concise, but a bit more fun. Stay tuned and thanks for your patience!

 **Author's Note #3**

 **10/29/17**

Hi again, the second chapter is up! It took me far longer than I thought, and it still needs some editing in my opinion. To be honest I never expected this to be the second chapter, but when I crossed over 3,000 words I realized I had to turn this idea into two chapters! It's kind of a boring segment as it's mostly setup, although Rustler is introduced. In the film they never mention whether the dog is a boy or a girl, so I decided to make her female. I know the paratexts mention Rustler was a boy, but I feel my fanfiction is very male dominated right now, so I thought what the hell! Chapter Three should be more exciting! Happy Halloween everyone!

 **Author's Note #4**

 **06/12/18**

Long time no see! Phew, it's been a while! This fan fiction is officially a year old, and I've only written three chapters for it! Haha, well at least I haven't entirely abandoned it! Chapter three is now online! This chapter is significantly larger in several ways. It contains a character of my own creation, it features a lot of visual jokes or ghost antics (which can be hard to put into words, truthfully!), and it has a higher word count. The setting in this chapter is a used car lot. I thought this atmosphere had a lot of possibilities. One of the best scenes in the film is the altercation in the museum. It's fun and exciting, and there is a new sight gag every few seconds. That scene perfectly encapsulates what I think The Frighteners is all about. I really tried to think of that scene while writing my own ghost tomfoolery. I also thought a car lot would be an ironic and difficult first haunt for Frank and his ghouls.

While perhaps my most ambitious chapter, I don't think it's my best work. Certain portions are too on the nose like "the defeatist mindset" paragraph. Though in my defense, there is a similar passage in the novelization that compares the incomplete Frank to his unfinished house. I'm afraid some of the detail in this chapter may come off as a little random or unnecessary, but it has all been put there for a purpose. The Viper story that Stuart tells is a brief anecdote from the novelization, while the scabby red car was Frank's original automobile in the same book. The dilapidated ice cream truck is a reference to the hilarious blooper reel where a Mr. Whippy ice cream truck stalked the actress who played Lucy! I try not to make pop culture references in my work, but there are three brief ones in this chapter. Cyrus make a quick comment about N.W.A., which I feel is fitting for the character and time period. (Since the movie came out in 1996, I feel this prequel is early nineties.) A device is later compared to a Gameboy or a Game Gear. Again, this is era-appropriate. I also make a small homage to the book/movie, Christine. Hopefully these aren't too distracting or extraneous.

Chapter four is far from finished, but hopefully I'll have it online before 2019!


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

"No, Frank! Look out!"

These monosyllabic words often woke Frank Bannister, and this morning was no different. Bleary-eyed, he examines his half-finished house while running his fingers through his short, uncombed hair. Even the slickest realtor couldn't sell this place. It was covered with blue tarpaulins, littered with old house and home magazines, and featured a lonely and dilapidated basketball court. Frank's appearance was only marginally better. His boyish looks couldn't conceal his careworn state, and he did nothing to alter this image. His oversized and wrinkled wardrobe emphasized both his youthfulness and impassivity. Unlike his house, if Frank put an ounce of thought into his looks he would be considered presentable, maybe even handsome. Frank didn't give a damn about any of that. He already had one foot in the grave.

He pulls on a ratty tan jacket to combat the draftiness of his home, and makes his way to his so-called kitchen. The walk requires him to maneuver through rusty toolboxes, tattered blueprints, and cheap liquor bottles. While an educated man of certain highbrow tastes, he was never selective when it came to booze. He passes a coffee table where a freshly printed statement sits. Surprisingly, the wind hasn't taken his job termination letter. This hardly matters, as Frank has decided to take on a new line of work, though he's unsure how to use his new talent.

After his wife's tragic death, he had developed the ability to see ghosts. He was undecided whether this was a blessing or a curse. Could he help earthbound ghosts? Could he console grieving people through séances? Could he somehow communicate with his dead wife? Rather than the newly visible spirits, these were the things that haunted him at night. Only one thing was certain to him; he could potentially make a buck with this skill. His services would be more than difficult to market. Most people viewed death with fear and distrust, especially in the seemingly quaint town of Fairwater.

He locates a relatively clean spot to sit, and begins reading a day old paper. On its bottom right corner is a perfectly round coffee mug stain.

"Who wants yesterday's papers? Nobody in the world…" Frank says to himself.

The Fairwater Gazette features an innocuous front page story about a local artist. While known for its journalistic integrity, many of its front pagers matched this insipid story. Other than the Johnny Bartlett killing spree some thirty years ago, the town has seen very few dark days. Frank flips over to the classified ads and job listings. He is struck by the sheer number of jobs.

"What the hell is a haberdasher?" He gruffly mumbles.

As if this inquiry summoned him, Stuart enters the room. Not through a wall or an appliance, but through an open door. While an emanation, he still did many tasks in a human manner.

"A haberdasher deals in dressmaking, normally men's clothing."

Stuart was a double major in his lifetime, a fact he would constantly remind his cohorts. He was a textbook nerd with his slender frame and thick spectacles. He was somewhat of a whiner, but also a loyal companion and a well-read individual.

"Hah! Of course you would know a stupid word like that!" Another voice erupted from the other room.

This was Cyrus, a cool cat from the seventies. He donned a white disco suit, and had an impeccable afro. He would always speak his mind, and had an affinity for cigars. Unlike Stuart, Cyrus entered the room through a partially finished wall. Cyrus was far more comfortable in his ghostly form.

Due to their many differences, the two spirits initially didn't like each other. Time and necessity have made them decent companions, though this hasn't stopped their occasional bickering.

"A solid vocabulary is one of life's necessities!" Stuart argued.

"Please, nobody needs to know a word like haberdasher." Was Cyrus's quick retort.

After a few laborious minutes, Frank is able to steer the conversation to a more productive manner.

"Listen, when I freed you guys from that cemetery you promised me…" He pauses briefly as he realizes the absurdity of what he is about to say, "…that you would help me make a living."

"We would still like to be your business partners, Frank, but what would we do?" Stuart said earnestly.

"We might be a real hit at parties!" Cyrus joked.

Frank starts carelessly thinking out loud. "Maybe you guys could inspire me to write a few ghostly paperback novels. Give them really gruesome names like Abattoir or…"

"Haha! You'd be a true ghost writer! Get it? Get it?" For having a brilliant mind, Stuart had a dull sense of humor.

Cyrus interjects. "An author? Yeah, that could lead to fame and fortune! And who knows? Maybe you can meet a pretty girl this way. Has been a while!"

Frank didn't offer a response. He simply stormed out of the room, if you could classify it as a room.

Cyrus yelled after him, "What? You think some cute little doctor is just going to pop into your life? You gotta get out more, man!"

Somewhat petulantly, Stuart looks at Cyrus and says, "You sure know how to get on Frank's good side."

"It's been long enough where I should be able to talk straight to the man!" Cyrus didn't hold back. "I feel like I'm in some lame-ass gimmicky sitcom featuring a depressed architect and a ghostly bookwork! We need some action up in here! I'm telling him my scaring idea! And I'm going to do it right now!"

Stuart was already aware of Cyrus' idea. He had severe misgivings, especially without the help of the Judge. Still, he supported his hotheaded friend.

"Sure you can talk him into it?"

"Well, to use one of your dumb idioms, 'the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.'" The spirit being Cyrus, and the flesh being Frank.

This made Stuart smile. Not only did it confirm that Cyrus listens to him, but it also suggested that he won the vocabulary debate from earlier.

While Stuart had been better educated, Cyrus had some savviness of his own. He was sharp-witted when it came to business matters, and he thoroughly enjoyed a good scheme. It got him in many a trouble during his earthly life. He was confident he could convince Frank of his plan.

Cyrus goes through the room to catch Frank taking a sip of his flask. Frank quickly stuffs it in his back pocket when he notices Cyrus' presence. Cyrus ignores this and immediately goes for the sales pitch. Never one to beat around the bush, he simply blurts out, "My man, let's go scare the shit out of some people! Easy money!"

Frank has had a similar idea for a while, but didn't want to admit it. Was he actually having the same depraved thoughts as a 1970's gangster? "God, I'm with the wrong crowd." he briefly thought. Despite their identical train of thought, Frank acts dismissive to the idea.

"What, are we going to follow some elaborate plan where you bang the toilet seat up and down, while Stuart flickers the light switch on and off. No, it's silly." He crosses his arms.

"Let's start out small, do some reconnaissance work. I've already got some ideas for suckers, uh I mean, potential customers." Cyrus flashes a wide grin.

"Like who? An old lady with a bad ticker? A kid who's afraid of the dark? The town wine-o? Enough already!"

"How about the one, the only, Mr. Buck Bukowski?"

"That trashy car salesman?" Frank said befuddled.

"Yep, the guy's a total asshole. He deserves a scare."

Stuart was listening in, and finally decides to make his entrance. In typical Stuart fashion, his attempt to enter the room through a wall was unsuccessful. His upper body made its way to the living room, but his lower half was still in the kitchen. A regular occurrence, this doesn't stop him from telling his story.

"Oh, I would agree with that. On my way to the library I heard that Buck fellow angrily barking orders to one of his lowly employees. He wanted him to roll down the speedometer numbers on an old Ford. Then on my way back I heard him tell a customer that the Ford had low mileage, and he said it in the sweetest-sickly tone you can imagine."

Frank looks back at Cyrus and asks, "So we would be swindling the biggest swindler in Fairwater?"

"Now that doesn't sound too bad does it?" Cyrus chuckled. "Sort of a supernatural version of the Robin Hood tale, right?"

"I wouldn't go that far. We would be the only ones benefiting." Stuart responded.

This was entirely fine with Frank. He felt it was time for some sort of payoff **.** If he was going to continue living, he might as well live for himself. The sleepy town of Fairwater was about to be introduced to a new profession, paranormal conning.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Fairwater was a coastal area known for its fishing businesses. Other than its museum, there were no real tourist spots or places of interest. Winding roads and lobster boats were its main attractions. Though hardly a landmark, Bannister's unfinished house was recognized around town. When mentioned it was usually met with sneers and eyerolls. Even the nicest residents derisively referred to it as "…that place." The peculiar lawn decorations only fueled its infamy. Instead of garden gnomes or concrete geese, it displayed a cement mixer and several scattered stacks of wood. It was a perpetual construction sight. Some Fairwater citizens pondered if the wood was used to warm his drafty, shack-like home.

While the place was hardly up-to-code, it did feature a stunning view. His hilltop house overlooked the entire community, yet it was somewhat secluded. It experienced little-to-no foot traffic. This was truly a boon for Bannister, as no one was around when Stuart trundled up to his doorstep. If one was taking a mid-afternoon jog, they would have seen a stack of floating paranormal books bang against Frank's front door.

"Come on guys! Let me in, I'm having a little trouble here…"

Frank grumbles as he opens the door. He was met not only by Stuart, who was looking more bookish than usual, but also by a mangy mutt.

"Hey Rustler." Frank gave a half-smile. Rustler was the first ghost he encountered with his ability. Needless to say, the spectral pooch gave him quite a scare when he first saw her. Because of her new presence, he spent a night in jail for intoxication and disturbing the peace. Or as Sheriff Walt put it, "The poor bastard kept ranting and raving about some ghost-like dog." Frank found it hard to believe there was ever a time where this saggy bloodhound frightened him. Since then she had become a loyal companion. It was through Rustler where Frank met the Judge and eventually Cyrus and Stuart. The Judge still considered himself Rustler's owner. After all, he named the mongrel.

Frank enters the kitchen as Stuart drops books right and left from his towering stack. Frank opens his unplugged refrigerator and immediately makes a grimace. The refrigerator reveals only a few packets of ketchup, a chocolate drink with the consistency of water, and some expired Boo Berry. He reaches into his back pocket and takes a brief look at his flask. It was a traditional, stainless steel six ounce-er. On the front was a little ghost he etched on some sleepless night. He decides against the drink and goes for the seasonal cereal. He pours it into a cracked ceramic bowl.

By this point Stuart has finally picked up all the fallen books and neatly alphabetized them on the kitchen counter. Rustler left minutes ago to annoy Cyrus. Frank finally acknowledges Stuart's multitude of questionable literature. "Trying to relive your college days there Stuart?"

"No no no, these books are for you!" Stuart gave a proud smile.

"Oh really? Looks like some real high-class literature." Frank didn't reciprocate the grin and instead stuffed some dry cereal in his mouth.

"When you talk to your clients you have to sound educated and convincing! You need to know the stories, the myths, and the lingo, Frank!"

Stuart was right, but Frank seemed more interested in his breakfast than the conversation. As Stuart was going on about the importance book reading, Cyrus makes his delayed entrance. As he makes his way through the wall he mutters something about a "crazy dog." He stops dead in his tracks when he spots the pile of pseudoscience literature.

"Damn! How did you check out all these books? There's no way you have a library card!"

"Well, no. But I always return them." He gives a sheepish grin.

Stuart continues. "I admit some of their integrity is questionable, but they may serve some purpose. Here's a book called _Factual Supernatural_ by M. Jahn. Here's another called _Hauntings and the Occult_ by Zachariah Bergman, and one called _Cults and Rituals_ by Milton Dammers. Please at least flip through these before our little scaring expedition!" Stuart was nearly pleading by the end of the last sentence.

Franks finishes his last bite of cereal and says, "Fine, fine, I'll read these _or_ at least flip through a few of them. But get rid of that cults and rituals book though. That shit freaks me out."

"Good! Now when and how are we going to scare this Bukowski fellow?"

"Yeah, the sooner the better! I'm ready for some scaring action!" Cyrus spoke up.

"I was thinking tonight." Frank said in a terse manner.

"Uh, well I wasn't thinking that soon." Cyrus drooped.

"I think we all need a little practice, Frank. We can't just wing this."

"This isn't anything complicated. You guys know your abilities. It's a friggen car lot for crying out loud. You should be able to use your imagination there, or at least act out some scenes from horror movies. Be derivative, whatever. You two can handle this."

Stuart was about to interject and suggest his books again.

"And yes, Stuart! I'll look over the books! Let's just head over there tonight a few hours after the place closes. Don't overthink it." Frank said.

"You give a hell of a speech, coach." Cyrus replied.

"…Hell, it might even be fun." Frank tilted his head slightly.

"Well, should we have a signal?" Stuart wondered.

"No, I'll make my entrance when I feel like he is sufficiently spooked. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's not analyze it to death." Frank reiterated, though this time in a nicer manner. Their ghostly zeal was slightly rubbing off on him.

"Haha, alright! So tonight it is!" Cyrus chuckled.

Night soon fell and the hapless trio made their way to their first scare. Before exiting the home Rustler gave an excited bark as if to say, "Can I come?" Frank answered before he closed the door.

"Nah Rustler, you stay here girl. If this works out, we'll work you into our little scheme later." Frank gave a quick wink to the pooch. He always had a soft spot for animals, even when they gave off a bluish glow. He shuts the door and turns to his cohorts. "Okay guys, it's time to get seriously scary."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The Fairwater used car lot wasn't exactly an eyesore, but an acquired taste. Multicolored twinkle lights decorated the drab dirt space, while an attention-grabbing banner hung over some light poles. The sign featured an animal caricature of Mr. Bukowski himself, and said in an alliterative manner, "Buck Bukowski's Buggies." His walrus depiction was a nod to Fairwater's seaside community, but the cartoon was hardly inaccurate. In reality he possessed some impressive cuspids that almost resembled tusks.

While a small lot that has seen better days, there was a serviceable garage for storage and repair. The more expensive cars were parked there, while the rust buckets shone in the full moon light. One bucket of bolts was bright red in color, but its surface displayed a series of unfortunate rust spots that gave the car a scabby appearance. A dilapidated ice cream truck was also in the mix, as was a bulldozer the color of a Ticonderoga pencil.

Cyrus and Stuart observed the site with varying opinions.

"It almost looks festive with all these lights." Stuart commented with a small smile.

"Yeah, old beat-up junkers always make me think of the holidays!" Cyrus joked good-naturedly.

Stuart was anxious. "Well, I guess we should get started..."

"Hell yeah!" Cyrus nodded in agreement. He was like a kid on Christmas. He decided to open the biggest present first.

"I'm going to check out that yellow Volvo. That poor piece of shit already looks haunted!" Cyrus continued.

With this declaration, the ectoplasmic associates began their haunting. Their scare tactics more resembled the antics of children on a playground than a true fiendish fright. Horns started to honk, lights flickered in an erratic fashion, and the cartoony banner waved like it was in the midst of a mild thunderstorm. The duo thought popping the car hoods up and down would lead to a real scare, but it only proved their lack of devilish experience. Cyrus attempted to hotwire a few of the cars, but was unsuccessful and blamed the rustiness of the cars rather than his own insufficient practice. Stuart discovered a small way to flaunt his intelligence when he encountered seven cars each displaying a sign with a different letter. When put together the automobiles crudely spelled out C-A-R-S-A-L-E. He quickly rearranged the letters to read R-A-S-C-A-L. Stuart, in a slightly irritated manner, chucked the solitary "E" in a nearby trash can.

After a few minutes Stuart remarked, "Haha, you know? This is rather fun! I actually do have a little bit of a rebellious side you know!"

Rebellious? Cyrus had to hear this. "Man, are you kidding me?"

Stuart immediately responded. "Oh sure! One time I got a ticket for going one-hundred in a sixty-five zone! I was driving a nice Viper back then."

This genuinely surprised Cyrus as it was the first time he heard this story. It made him chuckle for the wrong reasons though. He couldn't help but think this was the only time the poor fool ever got in any sort of trouble. Still, he humored his meek friend.

"Damn! That's pretty badass Stuart!"

Cyrus was searching for his next ghostly trick. Inspiration strikes when he sees a late fifties Plymouth Fury, cherry red.

"Maybe I should turn on the radio! Crank up some tunes!"

Stuart was never fond of his music choices. "I hardly think your silly disco station is conducive to scaring!"

"Yeah, but maybe the latest N.W.A album will scare the old white guy!"

"I doubt that's getting much airplay around here!" Stuart calls back as he sticks his head out of a heap of patched up tires.

Cyrus was ready for some music, and with a turn of the nob, the dinged-up Plymouth emits booming static.

Bukowski, lounging with his feet on the desk, is in the middle of a dirty magazine, but this commotion finally achieves his attention. He exits his office like a cigar chomping bull.

"Jesus! What in the hell is going…" He stops himself when he sees the ghostly activity.

He stands there agape for almost a full thirty seconds. In this time span he sees hubcaps floating like flying saucers, wrenches spinning like propellers, and tires speeding by like criminals.

When it comes to paranormal activity, this was mere child's play. Yet Bukowski is quivering with fear. He drops his cigar, and urgently makes his way to his graffiti covered phone booth.

Cyrus is distracted by the appealing looking cigar, "Ooh baby, now that's what I'm talking about!" but Stuart smartly follows Bukowski and yanks the phone line before he is able to make a call.

Bukowski examines the now cordless phone. "Good God!" In the corner of his eye, he sees the yellow Volvo flashing its ominous lights.

Nearby Frank was hiding out at an abandoned gas station. He was leaning against a rusty freezer with his arms crossed and his mind in another place and time. The gas station closed two years ago, and any signs of lawn care vanished with it. The overgrown foliage helps obscure the always suspicious looking Bannister, while simultaneously complementing his defeatist mindset. Old advertisements were still plastered to the building. There was a sun-damaged sign for cigarettes, and a partially remaining advertisement for cold drinks. The word "cold" was a vivid blue color capped with snow. Frank suddenly hears Bukowski drop some four letter words about his phone, and is quickly brought back to his present. Bukowski's language was as blue as the snowcapped text.

"Well, I guess now is as good a time as any." He takes a small shot of courage from his flask, and makes his way to the lot.

He awkwardly introduces himself to Mr. Bukowski. "Uh, hi there. Bannister, Frank Bannister." He mistakenly raises his left hand for a handshake, quickly realizes his faux pas, and extends his right hand. Bukowski doesn't reciprocate either.

Both Stuart and Cyrus stop their ghostly antics for a moment to observe Frank. They both give perplexed looks at each other.

"Yo, is our man nervous?" Asks Cyrus,

"I believe so…" Stuart's voice trails off.

They have never seen this vulnerability in Frank. He normally seemed so cold and unfeeling.

Bukowski also notices Frank's uneasiness, and wonders if he is pulling some sort of elaborate prank. Little does he know how right he is. Suddenly, Bukowski doesn't feels nearly as intimidated, and his interrogation starts.

"Now what the hell were you doing here? We've been closed for nearly two hours now! You some sort of creep?"

"Just a little walk at night. Uh, looks like you're having a little trouble. Here's my business card." He fumbles through his coat pockets and hands him his homemade card.

The sleazy car salesman looks at the scrawled business card. Frank was more accustomed to drawing up architectural plans.

"Ha, you sure don't look like a Frank." He gives another quick glance at the card. "What kind of bullshit is this anyway?" Bukowski didn't have an extensive vocabulary, but he could curse like nobody else.

"Um, I'm a paranormal investigator, and it sure looks like you have a ghost infestation."

Frank was uh-ing and um-ing like a teenager in their first interview.

"You've got to be shitting me." Bukowski wasn't buying what Frank was selling; a grim smile even crept over his face.

Cyrus and Stuart gave each other worried glances.

"I think our boy is crapping out… Wait!" Cyrus surveyed the car lot once more.

"Quick! Let's move the bulldozer! That would scare anyone!" Cyrus blurts out. Neither were athletes in their time of living, but their ghostly strength enabled them to move the bulldozer blade up and down several times. It made a horrendous creaking noise on the way up and landed each time with a heavy thud that sent specks of dirt flying.

Bukowski notices the new activity and it somewhat reignites his fear.

"There! Now he's not so cocksure! If it happens again let's ram that damn thing into his office!"

Cyrus and Stuart resume their work haunting the car lot as Frank continues his spiel, "No, no, I'm not kidding. You have a legitimate problem here." He gives the quickest glance to his cohorts.

"I think you're the one with the legitimate problem!" Bukowski barked back.

Stuart peaks his head out of a tail pipe and yells out, "Use some of the paranormal lingo I taught you, Frank! Have some fun with it!" Stuart looks curiously around and then says to himself, "Now how did I get in here?"

"Right!" He mistakenly replies to Stuart, but catches his mistake early and looks at Bukowski straight in the eyes. "Right! You're right to be skeptical. You're a shrewd man Mr. Bukowski; I would never toy with a man like yourself. Look around me, can you explain these anomalies?"

Bukowski just scowled.

Stuart and Cyrus beeped the horns for extra effect. Bukowski could have sworn they honked to the tune of Chopsticks.

"Five minutes is all I ask." Frank gives a half-hearted shrug. He's sure his scam has failed already.

Bukowski softens, "Five minutes to do what exactly?"

Enthusiasm flickers briefly in Frank's eyes. "Well, I have some fine paranormal equipment. I normally charge people when I use it, but I'll waive the fee for you. Now my methods may seem unusual, but they are a sure fire way to get rid of ghosts."

Frank was finally finding his ghostly groove. His pulls out his water pistol, and Bukowski's hands rocket to the sky. "Don't worry. It's holy water." Frank says in a surprisingly apathetic tone. Frank then proceeds in using the squirt gun to spritz everything in sight.

"Now check out this gadget; it measures EVPs."

"An EVP? Should I recognize that acronym or are you giving me technobabble, boy?" The paranormal lingo wasn't working on the easily irritated Bukowski.

Frank wasn't sure what it stood for either. He should have studied those books closer. He thought fast, "Ephemeral Visitor Production, it measures spirit activity."

Frank swiftly pretends to use the gadget. The device chirped and beeped in a melodic way.

Still skeptical, Bukowski vented, "That looks like one of them goddamn Gameboys."

"Funny, I always thought it more resembled a Game Gear." Frank tilted his head slightly and briefly raised his eyebrows in an impish way.

After a particularly pleasant bloop from the device, Frank gives a subtle cut-it-out signal to Stuart and Cyrus. The ghostly activity subsides, but not before Cyrus can let out one final wisecrack, "Hey, I thought we weren't using any signals!"

The lot was dead silent now.

"Well, that seems to have done the trick." He stuffs the device into his trench coach pocket, and promptly dusts off his hands. "Now how about that payment?" Frank followed Cyrus' straight forward business example. Frank didn't really have a set price for his services, so he begins rattling off fees. "There is a twenty-five dollar fee for…"

Bukowski interrupts Frank's sure-to-be imaginative list. He was in near hysterics at the thought of paying someone. In Bukowski's eyes, payment was far more horrific than actual spirits from the underworld. "Here, here! Take three-hundred and fifty dollars and the keys to that piss yella car. I don't want some possessed car in my lot. I'm not running some circus, spoon-bending attraction! Now get out of here before I call the cops!"

"Three-fifty, cash up front, not bad." Frank thought.

Frank cheerfully dangled the keys in his hand as he made his way to the new car. Before he opened the car door, he couldn't help but leave with a biting remark. "Thanks for the cash, Bukowski. And good luck replacing that phone!"

There was a sudden enthusiasm to Frank; he had some purpose, some goal. Sure, he would have to do some more reading on the paranormal, but this could really be the start of something. This newfound energy quickly dissipates when he sits in his newly acquired car. A memory casts a looming shadow over him, and he almost immediately reaches into his oversized pocket for his flask.

Cyrus and Stuart were already in the backseat, raving about their recent exploits. Cyrus soon directs his adrenaline rush to Frank. "I wish we could have got that sharp blue convertible! You want me to possess that car, Frank? That's a hell of a trade up!"

"I don't deserve some fancy car." Frank said emphatically. "Fairwater's a small town. Gas prices are high, and I can get around mostly on foot. And what the hell are you guys doing in the back seat? You guys are in the trunk. I don't want any of your ectoplasmic goop mucking up my new car!"

"Come on! We worked hard tonight, Frank! We deserve better seats. Isn't that right, Stuart?"

"Of course! We…"

Frank wasn't in the mood for one of Stuart's longwinded lectures. "Fine, fine! You two can sit in the back tonight, only because you guys view this as some sort of celebratory event."

The ride home was going to be a tough one for Frank. He was never sure he would set foot in a car again. His mind soon wanders. "I should have rejected the car. Maybe scam Bukowski a second time with this yellow Volvo. Make him a punch card." Frank sighs at the thought of all this. He takes a small glimpse at Stuart and Cyrus in his rearview mirror. He views them with a new appreciation, as friendly associates rather than plain annoyances. This wasn't exactly the highest regard, but for Frank it was fairly compassionate.


End file.
